


Checkout Any Time You Like

by IneffableAlien



Category: Good Omens (TV), Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Gen, Hell, Pre-Almost Apocalypse (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-27
Updated: 2020-01-03
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21979978
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: Crowley climbed inside the UberHEX he’d ordered.  “Take me someplace with alcohol,” he instructed the driver, “and hardly any customers.”The driver laughed.  “I knowexactlythe place,” he said.
Relationships: Crowley/Satan | Lucifer (Good Omens)
Comments: 62
Kudos: 318
Collections: Clever Crossovers & Fantastic Fusions





	1. Chapter 1

Crowley stared, wondering if steam might cartoonishly drain from his ears. “What do you mean, it’s ‘broken,’” he said flatly, no hint of a question mark.

 _“Broookeeen,”_ bellowed the resident stupid thing that appeared to be built out of rocks and evil.

“An escalator,” said Crowley, very slowly, through gritted teeth, _“can’t_ break. It can only _become—”_

__

__

_“BROOOKEEEN,”_ repeated the very stupid rock demon, blocking the stairs aggressively. It was waiting for maintenance to arrive, and obviously maintenance in Hell took its good old sweet time.

Beelzebub saw all this, and they were delighted by Crowley’s predicament.

Crowley had been Downstairs to report on the progress of the Antichrist child Warlock, and during that time the escalator leading toward the main entrance had decided to stop working, as things in Hell are wont to do. “Let it go, Crowley,” said Lord Beelzebub, a trace of amusement in their tone. “Is _thisz_ really the hill you want to die on?”

Crowley winced. He didn’t particularly want to die on any hill _in_ Hell. Paperwork would be the least of his worries. “Well, what am I supposed to do then?” he whined.

 _“Here’sz_ a thought,” said Beelzebub snidely. “You could exit the office building through the basement and actually spend a little time in Hell like all the rest of us do when we clock out—instead of acting like being _earth’szzz_ field agent makes you so blessed special.”

“Fantastic idea,” said Crowley wretchedly.

“It’s not so bad,” said Beelzebub, almost not unkindly. “Just do what anyone else does when they have a layover somewhere: get drunk.”

The last thing Crowley wanted to do was spend time with other demons. They were far from friendly to him; Beelzebub wasn’t the only one to think Crowley thought he was better than the lot of them. And how could he not privately feel that way? Most of them were about as engaging as that rock demon.

Crowley climbed inside the UberHEX he’d ordered. “Take me someplace with alcohol,” he instructed the driver, “and hardly any customers.”

The driver laughed. “I know _exactly_ the place,” he said.

Crowley was sitting in a hotel bar, currently wondering why Hell needed a hotel in the first place. Was the tourist industry really that booming? It was possible, he hadn’t spent any time Down There past the offices in a couple centuries. Perhaps most shocking of all by Hell’s standards was that the hotel seemed freshly renovated. Nothing in Hell ever looked this decent. The distinctive blend of evil clinging to its walls smelled ripe with power, and under the malicious trickster top note was something … hopeful?

Also, something scented suspiciously like jambalaya.

Anyway, that might explain the impressive state of the place, if it were the passion project of someone influential. It made Crowley uneasy, but he didn’t get the sense that he was in any immediate danger.

The catlike demon bartender with the thousand-yard stare finally acknowledged Crowley with a grunt. “What have you got drinkable?” Crowley asked.

The bartender rummaged in the cooler next to the well. He opened a chilled green bottle and slammed it down on the bar in front of Crowley. “Close your eyes and pretend it’s Saigon Special,” said the other demon.

Crowley was mildly surprised. “The Vietnamese beer?”

“You know booze,” said the bartender roughly. He paused, as though coming to the difficult decision to not be a complete asshole. “Name’s Husk.”

“Crowley.” He took a fair swig. “So why Saigon Special?”

“Reminds me of a nicer place and time,” Husk said dryly.

Crowley wanted to respond, but right at that moment a tall blonde demon, with paper-white skin and a smile that had the audacity to reach her eyes, bounded into the room. Crowley instantly recognized that she was a young girl. She had to be less than 200 years old. “Oh, my gosh!” she shrieked like a human teenager. (Crowley was taken aback for a moment, both by the utter _non_ -swear, as well as its highly rude implication.) “Welcome to the Happy Hotel! I’m Charlie! Let’s get you checked in!”

That was too many exclamation marks in rapid succession for Crowley’s comfort. His brain latched on to the one thing he had thought he understood: “Your sign says Haz—”

 _“HAPPY HOTEL,”_ Charlie repeated, a bit menacingly. “What’s _your_ name?”

Crowley could not trust this level of excitement to be found in Hell. Also, something was prickling in the back of his brain, something insisting that he knew this girl somehow, and that it was not a good thing. “Crowley,” he said again. “Um, but I’m not here to check in,” he explained, and he regretted it the second he saw the devastation on her face. _She’s just a kid,_ he thought, guiltily. He was struck by the inexplicable urge to reassure her that it was nothing personal, so he rushed to add, “I’m only here temporarily.”

“That’s the spirit!” she said brightly, with a plucky sort of swing of her arm in front of her chest.

None of this was serving to make Crowley any less confused. “I’m sorry,” he said, “what is this place, exactly?”

Charlie gasped. “You mean you don’t know??” She was basically jumping up and down now. “Well, let me tell you—”

 _“Don’t. Sing,”_ Husk pleaded from his position behind the bar.

Charlie sucked in her lower lip, considering this. “Well, I guess it can be a little overwhelming if you’re new here,” she allowed. Crowley was grateful that she did not, in fact, sing. She started to recompose herself. Then, proudly, she announced, “We are the very first place in Hell ever for rehabilitating sinners!”

Crowley was silent for what felt to Charlie like a long minute. Even in Hell he wore his sunglasses (because honestly he did not truly wear them just to hide his demonic nature but more for personal reasons), so Charlie could not read what was going on with his expression. But eventually he couldn’t help himself any longer, and he started to laugh. Charlie’s face fell.

Crowley chugged the rest of his not-Saigon Special. Husk must have anticipated that reaction, because he immediately placed another open bottle in front of him.

“You don’t think it can be done,” said Charlie sadly.

“I don’t …” Crowley didn’t even know where to begin, so he took a large drink. “Charlie, right? Look, you seem like a sweet kid.” He shook his head broadly. “But why … ?” He trailed off.

“Because there _has_ to be a better way,” Charlie said desperately. Crowley noticed there were tears pricking her eyes, and he mentally kicked himself for causing them. “There just”—here her voice grew small—“has to be an alternative to purging.”

Crowley wasn’t laughing anymore. He felt like someone stabbed him in the chest. He gulped down half his second beer in one shot.

It was easy not to think about it, being on earth and all. The whole “Great Plan” was fucked, including Hell’s part in it. Crowley, like all immortal demons, was expected to secure souls for Satan, but She wanted balance in all things. Heaven and Hell maintained equal populations, but these days it was a lot easier for a human to get into Hell than into Heaven.

Tempting humans so they’d damn themselves to Hell was a numbers game, it’s true. But the point of the game wasn’t to increase Satan’s army. It was to _decrease_ Heaven’s chances of getting more powerful. Heaven and Hell still increased at the same rate with purging, but with fewer souls on both sides, Heaven (who everyone knew had better military training) was statistically less likely to come up with super soldiers.

Hell didn’t recruit. Hell culled.

Crowley should have just hung out around the broken escalator. This was making him think too much about things.

“I’m sorry,” said Crowley, aching. _I’m sorry part of my job is to knowingly help overpopulate Hell so more people get erased,_ he thought but dared not confess out loud. “It’s a, uh, noble thing that you’re trying to do.” _And doomed to failure._ “I shouldn’t have laughed at you.”

Charlie gave him a shy half-smile. “So,” she tried again, “does this mean you’ll give it a shot?”

Crowley shifted uncomfortably and took another long swig. “Uh, you got me pegged all wrong,” he said. “I’m not getting, um, forgiven … and I’m not in danger of being purged.”

For the first time since she came in and introduced herself, Charlie looked at Crowley. No, that wasn’t quite right—she _Looked_ at Crowley. Crowley felt it all over, and he was actually stunned by how invasive it was, like there was a lot more to Charlie’s abilities than had met the eye and she didn’t necessarily even know it. “You’re a Fallen One,” she said. He could tell she had not expected that, for someone as _old_ as Crowley to have wandered into her hotel, seemingly without motive. “You were an angel.”

“Yup,” Crowley mumbled, not liking how vulnerable he suddenly felt.

“So,” Charlie said slowly, unable to contain her curiosity, “you probably knew my dad Before!”

Crowley froze. “What?”

How had he not seen it sooner?

Crowley gaped at Charlie’s preferred form, shaped by her being in Hell, but still humanoid and relaxed. The white skin, the rosy cheeks, black lips … The sclera of Charlie’s eyes were the same hue as her flaxen hair. She was the spitting image of her father. He’d bet money she was hiding an enormous red rage form deep inside, too, to match the old man’s. “Ohh, bugger,” said Crowley, his stomach sinking.

Charlie looked embarrassed. “I mean,” she said, “I shouldn’t have brought it up, I just thought …”

“You’re the Princess of Hell,” Crowley said blankly.

“Wait,” said Charlie, “you didn’t know?” For some reason Crowley couldn’t discern, this seemed to make her genuinely happy. “I guess you didn’t see my terrible news interview then.”

Crowley scrambled to his feet. If he had bothered to visit Hell in the last 200 years, he might have known that Charlie was actually somewhat of a laughingstock around these parts. As it stood, he knew nothing about the politics there anymore. He heard Husk snort back a laugh from somewhere behind the bar. Charlie’s cheeks blushed impossibly pinker. “Oh, oh, geez,” she said, “please don’t do that. Um—‘at ease’? I guess … ?”

Crowley sat back down as he was told, but couldn’t help the feeling that this had to be a trick. “Lucifer’s your father,” he said, a little brokenly.

“Yeah,” said Charlie. She sounded disturbingly sad about it. Then, she nodded in the direction of a family portrait, which Crowley had not seen hanging on the wall behind him.

Crowley turned and examined the painting. **“Ngk!”** he said, so hard he almost choked. “What, uh … what’s with the … ??” He squinted at the cane Lucifer held, wondering if his eyes were playing tricks on him. He’d received transmissions from Lucifer over the years, but they never saw each other anymore. _“… apples?”_

“Oh, huh,” said Charlie. She shrugged. “Just kind of his thing, I guess. For as long as I can remember. Like the Eden story, you know?” Something like realization flickered across Charlie’s face, and she laughed at herself, evidently humiliated. “Oh, gosh,” she said, “I’m such a dork! Of _course_ you know that story, you were around back then and everything! You could have even _been_ there, for all I know.”

“Could have been,” Crowley said dumbly. The color had drained from Crowley’s face, leaving him practically as pale as Charlie.

 _That little fling before the Garden meant a lot more to him than he let on,_ Crowley thought anxiously.

Crowley wasn’t sure if he should say what he said next, but Charlie was just so damn endearing that it only felt right to be truthful with her before he bolted out of there. “Charlie,” he started, “I know you don’t know me from Adam, but—I’m the one who delivered your brother.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


	2. Chapter 2

Charlie stared, and her lips parted. “What do you mean, you delivered my brother?”

“Well, I didn’t _deliver_ him,” said Crowley, “I wasn’t there for the messy bits. But the one who dropped him off, yeah—that was me.”

Crowley wondered at the sudden tension in the air, and he shifted edgily in his seat. The information hadn’t seemed too dangerous to share, since obviously Lucifer already knew, but could it be detrimental somehow to have Charlie recognize him? She seemed harmless enough, but she was still a demon. Charlie dragged a stool over to the bar next to Crowley and dropped down on it like the weight of the world had knocked her there. She took a deep breath, struggling to not get nauseous. “Are you saying,” she said at last, _“that I have a brother?”_

__

__

_Oh, bugger,_ thought Crowley. _Ohh, fuck._ “I had no idea you didn’t know,” he said quickly. “Never even occurred to me that you wouldn’t know, why wouldn’t you know?” _Looks like Lucifer’s kin needs some major infernal family therapy,_ thought Crowley, sinking down in terror. “If I’d realized you didn’t know, I wouldn’t have even brought it up—”

This must have been the wrong thing to say. An aspect of Charlie’s true form flashed just long enough for Crowley to catch a vision of horns, and blazing sanguine eyes that bled over sclera. What shocked him most, though, was how quickly it dropped to reveal again just a hurt, sweet kid (albeit of occult design). “You wouldn’t have brought it up,” she said, sounding on the verge of tears. “You would have just left me in the dark, like everyone else does. Can’t risk having Charlie screwing things up.”

“Listen,” said Crowley, putting his palms up appeasingly, “I didn’t mean it like that. Hey, I’m a coward, all right? So I didn’t want to piss off the literal Daughter of Satan. And it isn’t my scene, it isn’t my place, I shouldn’t have been the one to tell you.”

Charlie turned to look Crowley in the eyes, despite being hindered by his sunglasses. At 150 years old or so, she was analogous in certain respects to a moody human teenage girl, or at _most_ an early twentysomething. And Crowley had just dropped a bomb on her that would be difficult for someone of any age to emotionally digest. Although she was not a child like her brother was, she was still green enough and passionate enough about the world to tug at “Nanny”’s heartstrings, whether Crowley wanted to admit that to himself or not. “I don’t think you’re a coward for that,” she said sadly. “And you’re right, you shouldn’t have been the one to tell me—but that’s not _your_ fault.”

Crowley gave her a weak smile. “Well,” he said shakily, “now you know. I might as well answer any questions you’ve got to have.”

Charlie stared down at the burgundy carpet for a stretch of silence. “When you say you delivered him,” she started then, “you mean to earth, don’t you?”

Crowley chugged the rest of his beer, then gestured across his throat to indicate to Husk that he didn’t want another one—not that it mattered, because Husk had already decided that he was done with work for the day. “Yup,” Crowley said miserably.

Charlie looked up again, her expression horrified. “So, that must mean, it’s the End Times up there?”

“‘Fraid so,” said Crowley. “Well, in six years, anyway.”

Charlie paused, torn between asking about her brother, or about Armageddon. For now, that which personally broke her heart more won out. In a small voice, she asked, “What’s his name?”

“Warlock,” said Crowley, as gently as he could. “He’s five, uh … like a human five, like …” He looked all around the room, as though he might find an example suddenly standing there. Stranger things had happened today. “Well, you don’t have kid human souls running around here, do you?”

“Hardly ever,” said Charlie. “And the ones evil enough to come Down Here as children …” She broke off and shuddered.

Crowley worked something out in his head. “Well, I guess, a demon born here would look and act something like him around the time it hit forty,” Crowley offered bemusedly.

“Ohh!” Charlie shrieked, clapping her hands together. “How sweet!”

“Er, yeah,” Crowley grumbled. “Sweetest little destroyer of worlds you could ever hope not to meet.” Then, in spite of himself, his voice softened, and a smile spread across his face. “He is sweet,” he admitted softly. “Just the right amount of evil.” _All thanks to me,_ he thought proudly, but he decided that Nanny Ashtoreth was way more than Charlie could handle to have explained to her right now.

Charlie looked delighted to hear him say that. “What’s he look like? Does he look like my parents and me?” Crowley noted that Charlie was near bouncing up and down again, which he thought he liked a lot better than seeing her tearful.

Crowley furrowed his brow. “No, I mean, I seem to recall your dad preferring a dark-haired form when he’s blending in with humanity, so … kind of that, maybe? Not really sure how demon DNA works. Was never really my area. Anyway,” said Crowley, “the point is, he’s all human: very normal, brown hair, kind of green eyes.” Something occurred to Crowley. “You don’t actually know what that means, though, do you?” he said carefully. “You’ve never seen a human that wasn’t already twisted with sins.”

“I know they look different before they get here,” said Charlie. “I’ve seen drawings.”

“They just look like me, more or less,” said Crowley, gesturing down.

“So they sort of look like Sir Pentious?”

_“Who?”_

“A snake demon.”

“What? No! I …” Crowley didn’t think he looked any different than usual. Now he suspected that maybe he didn’t know what he was _presenting outwardly,_ immersed such as he was in the rather dissociative smog of Hell. He tried to shake off his confusion.

Crowley stared, although it was hard to read just how he was looking at her with his dark glasses on. “I guess I just take it for granted that demons know what humans look like,” he said finally. “I’m hardly ever Down Here.”

“You’d think I would have gotten to go up there,” Charlie said distantly, “being born first and all.”

Crowley arched his eyebrows, surprised. “You’d want to be the harbinger? Of the End?”

“Oh, no,” Charlie rushed to say. “I wouldn’t like that at all! I would just like,” she said, “to be trusted with a job. One job.” She looked away. “To not always have it be assumed that I would disappoint everyone.”

Crowley looked around awkwardly until his gaze fell back on the family portrait, his eyes lingering on the demon Lilith. “Hey now, come off it, that’s not why you’re not the Antichrist,” Crowley said brightly. “You’re just the wrong stock is all. Your brother’s part human— _Man_ of Sin and Lawlessness, all that biblical tosh.”

(Crowley had to force himself not to laugh, realizing that the last thing he had expected to do today was have to reassure somebody that she would have made a fine Great Beast, would have done a bang-up job, surely, so buck up.)

“And that’s not all,” said Crowley. He continued to examine the painting, where Lilith and Charlie peered straight ahead but Lucifer only had eyes for Lilith. “You were born of …” He trailed off. Born of what? Of love? Was Lucifer capable of that? “Well,” said Crowley, “you were born to demon parents, anyway. A couple, I mean. That’s a whole other, _nngh,_ thingy, from being, you know, _forged in the bowels of Hell to lead the Legions of the Damned.”_

__

__

_This girl is so young,_ thought Crowley, _and Lilith’s been around since almost the beginning. Is this them settling down then, by having a kid?_ Crowley rolled his eyes. _Who takes 6,000 years to get serious with someone?_

“I guess you’re right,” said Charlie. She smiled, her fangs flashing disarmingly. They were long enough to pass for snake fangs, and Crowley tried to beat down the warm fuzzies it gave him with a baseball bat. But then her face fell. “But even if I’d been made for the job, they’d still expect me to mess up.” She kicked her legs out beneath her. “He thinks I’m a failure.”

“I really doubt that,” said Crowley.

“No, he literally does,” said Charlie. “He’s as much as said those exact words.”

Crowley fought back a hiss and concentrated on trying to look unaffected. “He said that? To your face?” _This has nothing to do with you,_ he scolded himself, _and you are NOT getting involved, because this does not bother you in the slightest._

Charlie fiddled with one of her suspenders, which Crowley supposed was his answer. “It sucks,” she said, after she had recollected herself. “You try so hard, but you’re never good enough, and sometimes it feels like you don’t even know what you did that was so wrong.” Charlie paused. “And then you see how bad things are, so you say, hey, what can we do different to make this better? Couldn’t we come up with a greater plan? But then everybody turns on you when you only ever asked questions.”

 _Oh, no,_ thought Crowley. _You soft emotional idiot lousy excuse for a demon—you are getting involved, aren’t you?_

“And then,” Charlie railed on, “as if that weren’t bad enough? You feel scared, and alone, so you reach out to your own mother for help _and she doesn’t even answer!”_

Crowley groaned loudly.

Charlie jumped, like she’d forgotten that Crowley was sitting there. “Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “I went on for _way_ too long there, didn’t I?”

“No, no!” said Crowley, putting his hand up. “That’s not why I … _ergh,”_ he snarled. “You said nothing wrong. And there’s nothing wrong with talking a lot, or asking about things a lot …” Crowley ran his hand over his face. “I was just thinking about something else, that’s all. Totally unrelated.”

Just then, much to his relief, Crowley felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He checked it. There was a text from Beelzebub: _**Escalator’s fixed, you owe me one for letting you know**_

Crowley growled at the screen. He hadn’t even asked Beelzebub to text him about when the escalator to the main entrance was functioning again, but that hardly mattered. This was Hell, and an electronic edict from a Lord thereof wasn’t just Beelzebub being cheeky, it demanded that Crowley really did owe them a favor now.

 _Favors …_ The gears started turning in Crowley’s head. He opened up the app to order a ride back to the offices, then slipped his phone into his pocket.

Crowley reached into his breast pocket, and because he had decided he had a card in there, he did. “Look, Charlie,” he said, holding his sigil out to her, “I reckon I opened up a real can of worms here, dumping so much information on you. So, if you ever need to talk, this is good for one summoning.”

Charlie’s eyes flicked to the card, then back up to Crowley, but she made no move to take it. She pursed her lips, her mouth a thin black line. “What kind of deal is this?” she asked nervously.

“No deal.” Although he had successfully dodged ever spending more time in Hell than he needed, some things about it never changed. Crowley understood perfectly all too well Charlie’s reticence to take something from another demon. “This is not a favor,” he said pointedly, “it’s _payback._ You welcomed me to drink at your bar, even though this is a hotel bar and you knew I’d never check in.”

Charlie’s face lit up as she came to understand, and she took the card.

“My mobile is on there, too,” he added, “even though it won’t work for you when I’m back Up There. Could still be good to have, I guess.” Crowley coughed, then attempted to sound official: “Princess of Hell, we are now even—I am no longer in your debt.”

Charlie giggled. “Yes,” she agreed, “demon Crowley, with this dark magic card, which empowers me to uproot you at any given moment and literally _drag_ you into Hell, you have paid me back for, um, letting you sit there and shoot the shit for half an hour.”

“Whoa, whoa.” Crowley laughed. _“One time,”_ he enunciated. “You get to do that to me _one_ time, the card won’t work for more than that. And I can’t even tell you why I’m letting you do it the once, because I have no idea.”

“It’s still a lot,” said Charlie, looking like she was either going to burst into tears of joy, or throw her arms around Crowley. Thankfully, she did neither. “It’s a pretty amazing thing to do for someone you hardly know.”

“Er,” said Crowley, “s’nothing. Geez. It’s not like I’m adopting you or anything.”

“Mr. Crowley,” Charlie gushed, “you have got to be one of the nicest demons I ever met!”

Crowley frowned. “Sure, fine. Tell the whole of Hell, why don’t you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
